


Family Duties

by KiranInBlue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Mental Illness, care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 09:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiranInBlue/pseuds/KiranInBlue
Summary: Varric visits Bartrand.(Written for the /r/DragonAge prompt: Illness, care, recovery.)





	Family Duties

“How’s he doing today?” Varric asked.

The healer looked exhausted. There were dark bags under her eyes; her hair was slipping from its bun; stains and dirt smeared the rumpled clothes she’d been too busy to clean thoroughly. Varric felt almost bad. He paid her well, but being a live-in caretaker for a lyrium-addled lunatic wasn’t really the kind of job anyone aspired to. 

The healer pulled open the door wider to let Varric step inside. “He was agitated earlier,” she told him. “He’s calmed down now, but I don’t think he’s lucid.”

“Yeah, well, that’s nothing new,” Varric said wryly. 

He peered around the small home with the curious eye of someone entering a stranger’s house. Varric’s name was on the deed, but he didn’t live here. The suite in the Hanged Man had always been plenty good for him, but it was a little cramped for two dwarves and a healer. And so when Varric had sold the mansion, he’d found this little gem in Lowtown, which had a roof that didn’t leak and only a moderate rat problem. 

There wasn’t much in the two-room apartment. The front had a little kitchen clutter, a single chest, the healer’s cot, and a worn rug that was the sole, pathetic attempt at making the place feel a little homey. The door to the back room was closed. 

That was where Bartrand lived. 

“Here.” Varric flicked a gold coin in the healer’s direction. “Take the day off. Go see your family. Or your friends. Or your favorite prostitute. Whatever strikes your fancy.” 

She looked startled. “I beg your pardon, Master Tethras, but he, ah, soiled himself when he was upset earlier. I was just about to change him.” 

Ah, Bartrand. Always full of lovely surprises. 

Varric waved her off. “I said you had the day off. Don’t worry about it; I’ll handle it.”

“Thank you, serah.” The healer ducked her head and gratefully disappeared through the still-open front door.

When she’d gone, Varric went into the back room. 

It was dark here. The light bothered Bartrand, and so the windows were covered with thick sheets that only let through a dim glow. A basin of water had been drawn up in the corner, and a damp cloth was abandoned on the floor from when the healer must have been interrupted by Varric’s knock at the door. And Bartrand . . . he lay sprawled on his back across a large bed -- the most luxurious thing in the apartment. He was dressed only in a loose, stained tunic and breeches, and as usual, he was staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling. He stank. 

“Oh, Bartrand. The things you get yourself into,” Varric murmured. 

He closed the door firmly behind himself, bolted it, and went to the bed. Carefully, he coaxed Bartrand onto his feet and led him over to the basin, where Varric began to peel off the soiled clothing. The whole time, Bartrand stared into the distance. Varric wondered what he thought he was seeing. 

Varric sponged Bartrand down with the damp cloth in silence. He retrieved clean clothes from the chest by the window and let Bartrand lay back in bed while Varric dressed him. 

As Varric pulled up the fresh breeches, Bartrand finally spoke:

“Varric.” 

“Oh, so you know who I am today?” Varric said, gathering up the soiled clothing and dumping it in the basin. “Must be one of your better days.” 

Bartrand was looking at him properly, his eyes struggling to focus. “Varric, why didn’t you kill me?” he whimpered. “I told you to kill me.” 

“‘Course I’m not going to kill you. You’re the one who’s supposed to be the face of the family business, remember? You’re not dumping the guild meetings on me that easy.” Varric’s voice was thick, but he swallowed and forced a cough. “Besides, look at all the blackmail I have now. And you can bet, when you recover, I am so cashing in all the favors you owe me for changing your soiled ass.” 

“It’s too late for me. All I can hear is that song. I’m not going to get better.” 

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course you’ll get better. I’ve got whole teams studying red lyrium, and they’re learning new things every day. We’ll find a cure.” 

There hadn’t been any real breakthroughs in months. But it didn’t matter; until the money ran out, Varric would keep trying. And even after the money ran out, he had favors, and then . . . well, he’d figure something out. 

“You’ll get better,” he said again. 

But Bartrand didn’t respond. He was staring at the ceiling again. 


End file.
